Catalyst

by Michael Knaggs

  “What exactly did they do?”

  “They wrote really bad words all over her walls and front door, and put dog… you know… stuff through the letter-box. And they smashed in the front door a few times as well. Poor woman. She was beside herself.” Lucille’s voice was trembling a little.

  “She must have been. How did she react to that?”

  “She tried to do herself in – twice.”

  There were some gasps from the public gallery followed by whispered conversations.

  “Did she not call the police?”

  “No, she thought that would make it worse.”

  Dean looked around the courtroom with raised eyebrows to reinforce the information. He turned back to Lucille.

  “And you believe it was the three brothers who were responsible for this cruel harassment of Mrs Deverall?” asked Dean. Penny let it go; they were only talking mitigation, not proof.

  “Well, I didn’t actually see them doing anything, but there again, they never did do anything themselves. They just got others to do stuff for them.”

  “Quite. Mrs Ambrose, tell us about the man who came to the house to visit her.”

  “It was around last September, this man – she said he was a carer – started calling round, about once a week, it was, in the evening.

  He seemed to cheer her up no end. We could hear them next door laughing for lots of the time he was there. And then a few weeks later – in October I think – she said she was leaving to stay with friends for a while.”

  “And the man who visited Mrs Deverall; do you see him in the courtroom today?”

  She glanced across at James Lorimar.

  “Well, in all honesty, like I told the lady detective, I never did see him closely, let alone meet him. I couldn’t really say for certain that it was the gentleman over there.”

  “I should like to state for the benefit of the court, that the man Mrs Ambrose described was indeed the defendant, James Lorimar. Thank you, Mrs Ambrose; no further questions.”

  Lucille’s evidence was accepted without question by the judge and with no cross examination by Penny Cartwright.

  “So here was a case,” said Dean, in summary, as Lucille left the stand, “of an elderly lady whose life had been made, literally, unbearable. And who was saved by the actions of her carer. Whether we accept that the man was her ‘carer’ in the occupational meaning of the word, there can be no doubt that ‘carer’ certainly described him in its literal sense.”

  Dean Calvert next called Alan Venables to the stand.

  “Mr Venables is the owner of the apartment, where,” he stated with emphatic emotion, “this unfortunate lady would ultimately take her own life.”

  As Alan Venables took the stand, nodding in recognition to the defendant, who returned the greeting in kind, Judge Templar addressed the Defence Counsel.

  “Mr Calvert, I am sure we will hear an accurate, perhaps even interesting, description of the circumstances relating to this Mrs Deverall’s occupation of this gentleman’s property, but can you enlighten me as to how this is relevant to the sentence I am required to pass on the prisoner?”

  “If it pleases, m’lord, I am keen to demonstrate the level of support and attention Mr Lorimar extended to this lady, who, as we shall see as the account unfolds, chose to end her life whilst, in effect, still under his care. My view is that you might feel, as I do, that this may have contributed significantly to the action he took. I think the time taken to consider this will be justified, and thanks to the prisoner’s guilty plea, the case proceedings will still prove to be a relatively short notwithstanding.”

  “Very well. Please proceed, but let us not drag this out simply to fill the time that may have been saved, as you put it.”

  Dean turned to Alan Venables.

  “Mr Venables, I understand you live at 23B Darlington Road, Hammersmith?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “And is that the address where Mrs Deverall lived in the months leading up to her death?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Please tell the court how she came to take up a short-term tenancy in your apartment.”

  “Certainly. Last October I left the country for a three-month expatriate assignment, and advertised the place for rental for that period. Mr Lorimar replied to the ad and Mrs Deverall came along to look at it. She liked it and paid me the three months rent in advance. Actually, I knew her as Mrs Coleridge at the time and Mr Lorimar as Mr Anderson.”

  Dean Calvert jumped in quickly.

  “Yes, thank you, Mr Venables, that has all been cleared up now. But please tell us, when did you return from your assignment?”

  “The middle of April, as it turned out. It got extended for a further three months, and Mrs Deverall stayed on.”

  “So that was a period of six months in total. Very briefly, how would you summarise Mr Lorimar’s role in all these arrangements?”

  “He made it all happen. He answered the ad, sorted out the money side of things and… well, he was still there when I phoned and discovered Mrs Deverall had taken her own life.” He looked down and his eyes clouded over. “Such a shame,” he added.

  Alan Venables stepped down and Dean called Henry Blount to the stand. The judge sighed very loudly and raised his eyebrows at the Defence counsel. Dean pretended not to notice and continued.

  “Mr Blount, you are the proprietor of Blount of Hammersmith, Undertakers, are you not?”

  “Funeral Directors,” he corrected.

  “My apologies; Funeral Directors. You were called to 23B Darlington Road to attend Mrs Deverall shortly after she had taken her own life?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Could you please describe for the court Mr Lorimar’s involvement on that day and subsequently?”

  “Well, quite simply, he took charge of everything, informed all the appropriate people, paid the fees, decided on the gravestone, where she should be buried – as I say, everything. No-one else was involved.”

  “And why was that?”

  “Well, apparently Mrs Deverall didn’t have any living relatives or close friends. In fact, Mr Lorimar was the only mourner at the funeral.”

  “Thank you, Mr Blount, no further questions.” He sat down.

  Penny Cartwright got to her feet.

  “Mr Blount, you said apparently the deceased had no family or friends. And the funeral took place just three days after the death. Is it not rather strange that more of an attempt wasn’t made to find any possible contacts before rushing it through so quickly?”

  “Don’t bother to answer that, Mr Blount.” Owen Templar stepped in and turned to Penny. “I can’t begin to imagine how such information will assist me in my deliberations, Ms Cartwright.”

  He turned back to Dean Calvert again.

  “Is that all, Mr Calvert?”

  “For this witness, m’lord, yes. Thank you, Mr Blount. I should like to call two more witnesses who will assist in recounting the events of the evening in question. Perhaps this, allowing for any Prosecution Counsel’s questions, may take us a further hour or so…” He paused, enquiringly.

  “Very well, as Mr Calvert strongly and not very subtly hints, this may be an appropriate time to recess for lunch. Please all be back in your places by two-thirty sharp.”

  “All rise!” The Clerk of the Court.

  At 2.30 prompt, the Honourable Justice Owen Templar returned to his courtroom where everyone was in readiness for the start of the afternoon session.

  “Proceed, Mr Calvert, and let us please tell the story as economically as possible with the words at our disposal.”

  Dean Calvert looked at the judge a little startled and with a slightly hurt expression.

  “Call Mr Maxwell Jordan,” he announced.

  The landlord of the Wild Boar Inn took the stand and the oath.

  “Mr Jordan,” said Dean, “no doubt you recall the evening of the 7th of May when Mr Lorimar entered your public house?”

  “Yes,
sir.”

  “Please describe what happened.”

  “Well, I was having an argument with the Bradys over payment for drinks – they seemed to think they were different, like they should get the stuff free. And this guy came in… ” he nodded towards Lorimar “… and sat right next to them at the bar. Ordered a triple Jameson’s. Everything was okay at first, until he accidentally spilt Kevin’s pint all over him. Then it kicked off, Kevin grabbed him, I tried to calm him down, and the guy offered to pay for some more drinks and a new shirt for Kevin.” He paused and looked across again at the man in the dock.

  “Yes, and then what?” Dean prompted.

  “He gave Jimmy Brady two hundred quid – Jimmy insisted he bought drinks for everybody. I told him he didn’t need to but he said it was okay. And then he got up to go and they said they’d give him five seconds start, I think it was. So he pushed them over and ran out. They got up and ran after him. That was it. He just wanted to get away, avoid any trouble.”

  Penny Cartwright rose to question him when the Defence had finished.

  “Mr Jordan, you seem to remember a lot about what happened that evening in very precise detail. Am I right in saying that when you were asked to pick out this man at an identity parade less than two weeks after the event, you said you didn’t recognise him?”

  “Yes, sir – ma’am.”

  “Why is that, do you think? Was it perhaps that you did recognise him, but didn’t want him to be charged?”

  “Definitely not. I just didn’t recognise him. He had his cap pulled right down and… ”

  “But you are certain this is the man now?”

  “Well, yes. I mean, I know it’s him, don’t I? That’s why he’s here, isn’t it? No point in saying it might not be him now, is there?”

  “Quite. The story you’ve just told is of a man who, in effect, was a victim of physical harassment in your pub on that night. You depict him as an innocent in all of this. Don’t you think, knowing what we know now, that he was fully in control of what was going on all the time he was in the Wild Boar? That he engineered the whole thing – spilling the drink, for example. And that, for all he knew, the three people he had chosen to kill were unarmed. Isn’t all that true, Mr Jordan?”

  “No, he just came in for a quiet drink and… ”

  “I don’t think so!” said Penny, sitting down.

  There was some laughter around the court. Even the Counsel for the Defence looked a little embarrassed at his witness’s attempt to whitewash the incident. He got to his feet quickly.

  “Thank you, Mr Jordan.”

  As the landlord left the witness box he glanced across again at the defendant who returned his look with a nod of recognition.

  The judge waited until he had left the courtroom and addressed his next remark to Dean.

  “Mr Calvert, could you explain the purpose of this course of questioning. Given your attempts so far to depict Mr Lorimar as a man on a mission, driven by circumstances to carry out this crime – to which he has pleaded guilty – I am not sure why you would want to imply that his actions were due to provocation on the evening of the incident itself. Is it too big an assumption for us to accept that the very reason for his being in the Wild Boar public house at that time was because he knew his intended victims were there? This, in fact, would be totally consistent with the case you have been building so far.”

  “Yes, m’lord. Perhaps I over-elaborate, for which I apologise if it impedes the progress of this case. My purpose in calling the last witness was really just to confirm the type of individuals Mr Lorimar had set himself against. Even accepting his motives for being in the public house that evening, the unprovoked aggression he experienced would scarcely have deflected him from his intended course of action and could only have hardened his resolve.”

  “I understand your point, Mr Calvert… ”

  “Thank you, m’lord.”

  “… although that does not necessarily mean that I agree with it. I recall you said you had two more witnesses. In the light of what I think we just agreed, is it still relevant to call the final one?”

  “I particularly think so, m’lord, as this has been very delicately arranged and involves one of the very last people to see the victims alive and at the scene of their demise.”

  “Very well; do continue.”

  “Thank you, m’lord. The next witness is a boy, fourteen years of age, who resides on the Cullen Field Estate. He was, by his own admission, a member of the Brady gang, but has agreed to give an account of the events of that evening up to what we believe was just a few minutes before the three men were killed. He has agreed to do this anonymously, for obvious reasons. Because of his age and the need to preserve his identity he will not, of course, actually be present in this courtroom. He is in a secure room within this building and we have an audio link with him. His voice will be electronically distorted, to ensure no possibility of accidental recognition. He is accompanied by his mother and a police officer. For the purpose of the court record, he will be referred to as Damian, although I emphasise that this is not one of his names – neither a forename nor a family name. Would you like me to proceed, m’lord, or would you like to address the witness prior to my questioning him?”

  Whilst Dean was speaking, a technician was attaching a radio microphone to the lapel of his gown.

  “I should like to speak with this young man first.”

  The technician moved across to the bench and placed a microphone on a small angled stand in front of the judge for him to speak into. Another technician at the back of the room activated it, and raised his hand to signal its readiness.

  “Damian, can you hear me?”

  There was a muffled noise from the invisible speakers of the courtroom PA system. This was followed by the sound of whispered prompting and then a stronger response.

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, m’lord.” Another prompt.

  “Yes, m’lord.”

  “Firstly, Damian, let me thank you for coming here today to help us with this case. In a moment I will ask Mr Bradley, who is our Clerk of the Court, to ask you to take an oath. Do you know what that means?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “Well, just to be absolutely clear, let me explain. You will be asked to promise to tell the truth in this court of law. You are bound by the same rules as the witnesses who have appeared in this courtroom, even though you are not actually here, and you must take this oath, on your holy book, in the knowledge that you yourself can be charged with an offence if you do not tell the truth. Do you understand, Damian?”

  “Yes – m’lord.”

  “Excellent. I am now addressing the police officer in the room with you. Officer, do you have the book in question?”

  “Yes, m’lord.”

  “Then, Mr Bradley… ”

  “Take the holy book in your hand, Damian, and read the words on the card the officer is holding in front of you.”

  There was a sound of whispering and shuffling, then, “I swear by Almighty God that the evidence I shall give will be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.”

  “Thank you, Damian,” said Judge Templar. “Mr Calvert… ”

  During the whole of the proceedings up to that point, the public’s eyes had been focused almost exclusively on the man in the dock. Although they were clearly absorbed by the questioning of the witnesses and the exchanges between judge and counsel, their collective gaze was fixed – almost transfixed – on James Lorimar. The man himself seemed totally relaxed but fully attentive throughout, his eyes switching quickly from speaker to speaker as each dialogue unfolded as if eager not to miss a single word, and to clearly grasp the meaning of each. To an experienced observer of human behaviour, like Detective Chief Inspector David Gerrard, it seemed as if the man was checking that everything was going to plan. As if he, rather than any of the officials, was controlling the proceedings. This notion was reinforced by a number of brief consultations, invariably prom
pted by the prisoner, with his counsel.

  He also noted, with some amusement, that the gallery’s intense concentration on the prisoner wavered significantly as Dean Calvert began to question Damian, and people started to look around the courtroom, as if searching for the source of the alien-sounding disembodied voice.

  “Damian,” Dean began, “let me first add my thanks for your attending court today. Can you confirm, please, that you are fourteen years of age… ”

  “Yes.”

  “… that you live on the Cullen Field Estate… ”

  “Yes.”

  “… and that at the time of the incident, you were a member of what was known as ‘The Brady Gang’?”

  There was a brief silence, followed by whispered encouragement from a female voice.

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you, Damian. Could you explain, in your own words, what happened that evening, starting with the disturbance in Kingdom Road.”

  “Well, somebody set fire to these cars, like… then the police came and the fire guys and some of us – I mean, some of them… ”

  “It’s alright, Damian,” Dean interrupted, “you’re not in trouble, but you are under oath, so just tell us exactly what happened.”

  “Okay, we had a go at the uniforms, then somebody threw something onto the road and – shit – we were all, like, fucking deaf and blind for a minute. Then it pissed down and suddenly Jimmy and the twins were there. They went to the pub and we just hung around outside, like we always do, in case something else was going off.”

  He seemed to run out of words. After a long silence, Dean prompted him again.

  “Okay, that’s great so far, Damian. What happened next?”

  “Well about nine o’clock – or maybe it was ten o’clock – this dude runs out of the pub and away down the street. We’d seen him go in, like, a bit earlier. Then Jimmy and Kev and Karl came out and ran after him. We all went along with them and trapped him on Cullen Industrial Park down a dead-end street. Then Jimmy beat up Ahmed when he asked if we could stay.”

  “Why did you want to stay, Damian?” Dean asked.

  “To see the action, like.”